


The Frikdreina

by Ghelik



Series: The 100 Fics [26]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Pirate, F/M, Happy, POV John Murphy (The 100), Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 05:34:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10780617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghelik/pseuds/Ghelik
Summary: Murphy knows he's no Prince: he's too much of a cheat and an opportunist. But when he sees the young pirate stashing the gilded cross into her satchel and the King's guard ready to capture her, he thinks he could be. Just for her.





	The Frikdreina

**Author's Note:**

> This came out of a random Tumblr prompt I saw on the memori tag, inspired by the beautiful pictures on @elviriel 's post.

Once upon a time, there lived a beautiful princess. That’s how the story usually goes. And after the adventures, the beautiful princess and his noble prince lived happily ever after.

 

Growing up Murphy loved hearing old Mrs. Kane telling stories about princesses and princes. Story-time was his favorite part of the week. Helping Father Jaha organize the dusty old church adjacent to the orphanage was what he liked least, but he did it anyway because Father Jaha liked him and would always spare some wine and a few morsels of bread. He would read the Bible while Murphy scrubbed the floors and polished the gold.

 

It was Sunday when the pirates attacked, which meant he was still in the church, broom in hand when the gang barged through the doors and started ransacking the place, filling their bags with the golden cups and gilded crosses.

 

The girl must have been a princess, she was so beautiful. Dark hair covered by an old bandana, slanted eyes full of mischief and a smile he could die for. So he did what every prince would do when one of the King’s soldiers tried to attack her: he slammed the wooden pole of his broom so hard against the man’s head, he fell to the ground like a bag of potatoes.

 

The girl turned, knife in hand, and stared at him for a moment.

 

Murphy knew enough stories by now to know he was no prince charming. He was a cheat who sweet-talked the priest into giving him food and stole whenever he knew he could get away with it. Murphy was aware that there was no happy ending for him. But when she smiled at him and offered a place in the ship, he thought, maybe, if this princess wanted him by her side, he could be.

 

***

 

It soon became evident Emori was no princess. Aboard the Frikdreina she was ruthless and fierce; she cheated and cursed more than any other crewmember. She still was the most beautiful and intelligent woman Murphy had ever met.

 

For five years they worked their asses off for their captain, plundering ships, stealing in churches and running from the King’s Guard. Then the captain became a liability, and when Emori challenged him, she had most of the crew at her back. Their exploits with Emori as their leader became legendary.

 

Murphy knew he wasn’t a prince, but when he watched Emori standing at the helm: headscarf whipping in the wind and eyes closed, skin glistening with salt water, he really couldn’t bring himself to mind. When Emori held him tight, skin against skin inside the bowels of their ship, he was the happiest man alive.

 

He was standing on a busy market street, the stall in front of him buried beneath a variety of cheap trinkets and knickknacks. They weren’t even worth stealing, but one of them had been fashioned in the form of a misshapen raven, and he knew Emori would love it.

 

He paid the young girl with a silver coin because the sun was high and the sky blue, and he could spare it. The girl smiled a big gap-filled smile, and he scurried away, passing by many posters offering great recompense to anyone who could help capture Captain Emori One-Hand. The posters had a pretty decent if somewhat old likeness of her: the artist had managed to capture her shit-eating smirk and the tattoo across her cheek but had somehow completely missed the fact that she was a woman, opting for a rough boyish sketch of her upper body.

 

Murphy kept walking, hands buried into his coat pockets and a happy tune on his lips. He got to the pier, where the Frikdreina was ready to sail. They had camouflaged her, changing her blood-red sails for the standard white ones the other ships displayed.

 

The ship was, in fact, pulling away as he came closer. The pirate sprinted the last few meters and jumped towards the deck, his hands finding the ropes of the ladders up the mast as a gust of wind filled Frikdreina’s sails, and she jumped to life.

 

Emori smirked at him from beneath her wide-brimmed captain hat. “You’re late!”

 

He didn’t mind. His heart beat happily against his ribs as the ship flew over the waves. This… This must be what freedom feels like.

 

 “John!” she called. “Stop daydreaming and get back to work!”

 

He let himself hang upside down from the rope. He winked at Emori because that still made her blush. “Aye, aye, my Captain!”

 

The captain smiled that night and put the misshapen raven pendant on a leather string around her neck, where it would rest against her heart. Then she climbed over him, wearing nothing but the necklace, her twisted right hand resting on his shoulder as she guided him home with the left one.

 

In fairy tales, whenever the evil witch appears, the sky is overcast, thick with foreboding clouds. In real life, the sun was shining, making the water gleam like diamonds all around them. The King’s Guard’s ships appeared out of nowhere, and the battle was bloody and uneven from the very start.

 

Their mast groaned pitifully when one of the enemy cannon balls chipped away part of its base. The enemy’s ships flanked the Frikdreina, a large grappling hook stopping it from flying away. The iron against Murphy’s neck was cold, sprinkled with salt water.

 

 Emori stood still, hands raised as the King’s captain used Murphy as a weapon against the crew, dragging him slowly back on the plank towards imprisonment. The soldiers were rounding everyone else pushing them towards the plank and certain death.

 

Murphy knew this part of the story: they would be branded like cattle, sentenced for their crimes. As a child he had often seen criminals hanging from the gallows: all blotchy with their swollen tongues sticking out of their mouths, eyes bloodshot and still open.

 

He looked at Emori, her slanted eyes so wide they looked nearly round. At least one of them should live.

 

He moved faster than the captain had anticipated, squirming out of his grasp and racing down the enemy ship's deck, cutting the ropes tying down the Frikdreina. She groaned, snapping free of its bounds, great red sails filling and the whole ship leaping forward like an over enthusiastic colt.

 

In a last sprout of dazzling energy, Murphy jumped.

 

Only to be snatched out of the air by one of the King’s guards. On the Frikdreina's deck, he thought he could see his crewmates pushing back the soldiers, throwing them overboard, reclaiming their ship. He likes to imagine he saw Emori looking back at him, but he isn’t sure.

 

They throw him into a cell, tiny, dark and stinky. The brand itches. It didn’t hurt as much as he thought it would. They don’t know who he is and he doesn’t talk, no matter how many times they beat him.

 

Then they arrive at the Citadel. They guess his identity once they strip him for a flogging and see the huge snake tattoo across his back. 

 

“So you’re the reptile companion of Emori One-Hand,” his current torturer’s smile is poisonous and nasty. “Think the Captain will come rescue you once we announce the day of your hanging?” the torturer purrs into his ear. “I think not. Why die for her? Tell us where to find her, the King can be merciful.”

 

At least Murphy will have the satisfaction of knowing he’ll die having broken this asshole’s nose with his brow.

 

***

 

The gallows look far worse from right beneath it as it did from across the square.

 

  He’s forcibly pushed onto the wooden floorboards. They have to raise him like a child because his legs are locked in place. The hangman smells like salted fish and seawater. They tie Murphy's hands behind his back. 

 

The priest looks saddened and old, he reminds him of Jaha and Murphy has to forcibly keep himself from spitting in his face. 

 

He comes accompanied by two hooded monks, which is a bit over-kill if you ask Murphy, seeing as he hasn’t played once since he left the orphanage.

 

There’s a crowd gathered around the wooden platform, animatedly chatting and someone’s selling nuts in the corner. From up here where Murphy cannot really see the gallows – only feel the coarse noose around his bare neck. The square looks really festive, just like any square looked when the carnival or the comedians arrived back when he was a kid. Father Jaha said the fools hid Satan in their colorful clothes, but the kids at the orphanage loved racing down to the square to watch them.

 

The priest is reciting some unintelligible bullshit while one of the hooded monks other stands dutifully behind the priest, head bowed over the bible. The other one pushes something against his fingers. At first, Murphy thinks it’s a cross and wants to drop it. But then his hand recognizes the soft leather handle of his own dagger, the metal of the blade cold against the skin of his wrist and his heart jumps up into his throat. He would have spit it out if not for the noose.

 

“Amen,” he says on cue as the priest finishes reading whatever it was he was reading.

 

The moment when the floor disappears from beneath his boots, seems to stretch into eternity. He can see the floor slowly curving back, feel how his hands twist the knife against the bonds faster than he can actually think. He can even hear the twang of the arrow and feel the feathers brush the top of his head as it pierces the rope with astounding accuracy. He fell to the ground in a heap of limbs while the shooting started.

 

Murphy was pulled up and promptly slapped across the face. He blinked down at Emori. 

 

“Don’t you ever do something like this again!” she growls, eyes sparkling with anger and he can only gape at her because she’s come for him. She’s risking the lives of the whole crew for _him,_ and it’s not like he didn’t know that she loves him, but on the sea, if you get fished out, the rest don’t risk their lives to get you back. That’s what got their previous captain booted from their ship.

 

He kisses her hard until someone shouts for them to get a move on.

 

Emori gives him his sword. “Let's give these simpletons something to talk about.”

 

He smiles, heart racing and a smile so broad he must look like a maniac. “Aye, aye, my captain.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> As always thanks so much for reading and commenting :D


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